


songbird

by andnowforyaya



Series: songbird [1]
Category: B.A.P, K-pop
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Historical, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Sex Work, kisaengs, virginity auction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 17:51:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2034405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andnowforyaya/pseuds/andnowforyaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a songbird in the great city of Busan, nestled in its cage in the neighborhood of Oncheonjang, and one day Himchan will set it free.</p>
            </blockquote>





	songbird

Oncheonjang sits at the base of a mountain overlooking the bustling streets like a god. When Himchan travels from the capital to the coast, he likes to keep here, not only because his business partners prefer it as well but also for its noted hot springs and parlors.

Yongguk was sent to the coast when he was very young and has made his mark at the docks. Their families are friends, and Himchan has been visiting him for years. Yongguk’s letter had read, in crisp, thin writing so obviously not his own: _When you arrive, there is something I believe you will find very refreshing and exciting. A songbird you will enjoy._

It is always like Yongguk to be so cryptic. Himchan thinks it must be another _kisaeng_ , new and young, capturing the hearts of the men who travel through the neighborhood. She will perhaps be small and pale, red lips and pretty fingers on the strings of her _gayageum_.

Yongguk has always been soft-hearted for the ones with a particular gift for music.

.

The drink has been flowing for some time. Yongguk made arrangements with the _haengsu_ , the most senior _kisaeng_ who oversees the house, for one of the smaller entertaining rooms to accommodate Himchan, himself, and a few friends -- Yongguk has been cultivating Youngjae of the notable Yoo family to help him oversee his accounts, while Jongup joined them in friendship sometime in their adolescence and never left.

The screen door slides open and Hyosung returns with a small jug of wine, fluttering around on light feet to refill their glasses. Himchan sincerely believes he will always enjoy Hyosung’s bantering company, only enhanced by the way she fills out her layers of clothing, but Yongguk had promised something new, something refreshing, and drink is making Himchan impatient.

“Where is my promised songbird?” Himchan asks, maybe too gruff, because Yongguk laughs. His cheeks are tinged pink. Hyosung folds herself neatly beside Yongguk to pour him a generous portion, the long sleeves of her _hanbok_ brushing over his hands.

“Is Master Himchan interested in acquiring a pet?” Hyosung says, eyes twinkling like the jewels in her hair.

“Yongguk promised me something exciting,” Himchan whines.

Hyosung titters. “Am I not exciting enough for you?”

“There are many ways to excite a man--”

“--but few ways to satisfy him,” Hyosung finishes.

Himchan feels his lips curl up into a grin. Beside him, Youngjae snorts into his drink. So unbecoming.

“On the contrary,” Himchan says lightly. “I can think of more than a few ways.”

“But it is not _my_ skirts nor hands nor lips you are thinking of.”

Yongguk whispers something into Hyosung’s ear, and she lowers her eyes, a small smile playing on her red lips, as Himchan tries to think of something to say in return, but there is nothing.

Hyosung straightens, bows, and says without bite, “I will go fetch your pet. Be warned, though; songbirds scare easily.”

Hyosung returns with a little one. Slight, smooth-skinned, striking. She seems to swim in her _hanbok_ , or float as she trails behind Hyosung, visibly nervous, nearly bumping her nose into the older _kisaeng’s_ back when Hyosung stops and indicates to the two servants carrying a heavy _gayageum_ to place it near the head of the table.

“Daehyunnie will play for you,” Hyosung says, sitting down again near Yongguk as Daehyun kneels before her instrument, swallowing. She has large, clear eyes and the most perfect lips Himchan has ever seen. “What do you think, Daehyunnie?”

“It would be an honor to play for such handsome guests,” the young _kisaeng_ says, in a voice that catches Himchan off guard, so much that he nearly knocks his drink over. Daehyun’s voice is low -- lower, certainly, than many of the other young female _kisaengs_ of the house.

Himchan meets Yongguk’s eyes across the table, and Yongguk smirks at him.

Daehyun is a boy.

.

Himchan visits many times over the course of the next few months, sometimes even making the trip without informing Yongguk first.

Daehyun’s voice is honey and milk. He isn’t shy when he’s singing for his clients but when they take the _gayageum_ away, when he is left with just his words and his looks, the coquettish flutter of his eyelashes and flirting brush of his fingers, he retracts like a flower away from cold, like he is not sure how he fits, if he is supposed to fit.

Himchan finds Daehyun’s confidence in performance juxtaposed with the ease with which a client is able to bring him into submission fascinating. _Kisaeng_ are supposed to be witty and sharp, but gentle in their delivery, knowledgeable in a range of subjects and skilled in the arts. Perhaps it is just that he is still in the plainer robes of a young, patronless _kisaeng_ , but Daehyun does not seem to speak unless asked.

His calligraphy, though -- the way he handles the smooth stroke of the brush -- is a sight to behold, and then there is of course his song.

Hyosung often accompanies him in the room on the nights he is requested, gently distracting the others’ attentions from him when it is clear he is caught with a blank mind. He is not allowed to be alone yet, anyway. Sometimes, Himchan thinks that Daehyun is _scared_ of his clients, of the men who look at him and through him.

Once, Himchan is there on a general evening, in the room with other men who are familiar to him but not friends, and a young, bold politician named Woo Jiho lays his hand dangerously close to the crease of Daehyun’s thigh as he is serving him his drink. He squeezes, and the drink spills.

It spills all over the setting on the table, and Himchan’s heart hammers in his chest but at least none had made its way onto Jiho himself. Even so, Daehyun moves quickly, bowing so low on the floor he might as well be prone, apologizing in sweet tones.

The room has frozen. Hyosung is watching. The politician’s eyes are slits in his face as he reaches forward with a finger to hook under Daehyun’s chin, to draw him up. The jewels in Daehyun’s hair jingle and catch the light. Himchan looks at Hyosung, but Hyosung has started to tend to another guest already.

“If you want to show you’re really sorry,” Jiho says. “I can think of a way.”

Daehyun stammers, “M-Master Jiho -- it was an accident. I’m very sorry. I’m -- not allowed to -- offer you the apology you want.”

“We can be creative,” Jiho whispers, but Himchan hears him, and thinks quickly.

“Word travels fast in this neighborhood, friend,” he says with a smile on his face. Jiho’s eyes snap to him. “Daehyunnie’s ceremony is soon, and I don’t believe the _haengsu_ of this house will take kindly to rumors.”

“What do I care the sympathies of a woman?”

“You won’t make it very far as a politician if you don’t,” Himchan advises.

Jiho glowers for a long moment, eyes smoldering at Himchan, but he must see the truth behind Himchan’s words, because he lets Daehyun go. “More drink,” he barks at the young _kisaeng_ , who rushes to do his bidding as servants clear his table setting and clean the mess.

Hyosung kneels beside Himchan then, and whispers into his ear. “The house favors you,” she murmurs. “Daehyunnie has been asking after you.”

Himchan smiles.

.

The next day, Daehyun receives him in one of the party rooms of the house. It looks different during the day -- natural light filling the space, empty without the platters of food, the men, and the beautiful women to entertain them. Daehyun glows. His hair is done up elaborately, and Himchan wants to see what it would look like falling around his shoulders, clear of the jewels, long and silky.

“Why have you asked for me?” Daehyun says as a greeting, still nervous, on his knees underneath his hanbok.

“I want to buy you something pretty,” Himchan says. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Daehyun blushes, eyes ducking down. He swallows. “Master Kim is too generous.”

“Don’t you have other clients who are generous?”

“Others who have propositioned and offered their generosity have wanted to visit during less favorable hours, and Hyosung-noona would not allow that.” He scowls, and it is so boyish on his face that Himchan laughs.

“Hyosung-noona treats you well,” Himchan says, beckoning Daehyun to stand with his hand. Daehyun does, looking uncertain. “We’re going into the market.”

“Master Kim, I don’t know if--”

“There will be someone watching,” Himchan assures him. “There is always someone watching. It will probably be that stick of a boy Junhong.”

Daehyun gasps. “You know his name?” His eyes blink in wonder.

“He’s a good kid,” is all Himchan says, but after that it is like something switches off Daehyun’s lack of confidence; rather, it is like something switches _on_ his genuine curiosity in Himchan and their world, as well as his inability to keep his mouth shut.

Himchan buys him an ornament for his hair -- a gold needle with a small, jeweled butterfly atop the bulb at one end.

“It’s beautiful,” Daehyun says, voice hushed so that Himchan has to lean closer to hear him. Here out in public, their faces are near, and Daehyun blushes an appealing shade of pink. “It’s beautiful,” he says again. “Thank you, Master--”

“Himchan,” he interrupts. “When you call me Master Kim, I feel very old. Please call me as Hyosung calls me.”

“Master Himchan,” Daehyun says dutifully, sweetly. He smiles and Himchan’s head feels very light, like it is filled with hot air.

They wander for some time, and talk about everything and nothing. Himchan discovers that Daehyun can speak at length about the different ways to prepare a good, meaty fish, but would prefer not to speak on legislation and other affairs of the like. When Himchan asks what it was like to grow up training to be a _kisaeng_ , Daehyun has no words at all.

He steers the conversation away from that, and buys a hotcake from a vendor on the street to distract Daehyun, whose face lights up when he bites into the sweet snack.

It is much too soon that they come back again to the house. Daehyun turns on the first step up and Himchan does not follow him inside. Now, they are even in height. He has a crumb at the corner of his lips, and Himchan reaches up to brush it away with his thumb, sucking on the tip of it lightly after. He tastes like honey.

Daehyun’s lips are slightly parted. Himchan wonders if he would taste like honey there, too.

“My coming-of-age ceremony,” Daehyun begins, a tumble of words out of his mouth. “It’s next month. Will you -- will you consider attending?”

“I’ve already made plans to,” Himchan promises, that hot air that was filling up his head sinking down into his chest, making him warm from the inside out.

.

The next few weeks seem to trickle by. Himchan wakes to settle his affairs and then complains about how long it is taking to do so to anyone who listens. Meanwhile, he makes arrangements with Yongguk so that he can stay with his friend in Busan when he returns. If he is to join the coming-of-age ceremony, he wants to be able to spend time in the city, after.

The coming-of-age of a notable young _kisaeng_ can be quite the spectacular event, if hosted properly. Himchan has only ever been to one before this, where the young girl was so popular, the men gathered there nearly rioted when the _haengsu_ ended the auction short, the _kisaeng_ in question having caught the eye of a man of the court.

That was a few years ago, when Himchan was just beginning to understand how he could benefit from the cauldron of information bubbling away inside of these _kisaeng_ houses.

Himchan imagines Daehyun’s ceremony. He imagines the pale _hanbok_ Daehyun will be required to wear throughout it, his fingers as he skillfully plucks a piece from his _gayageum_ , the tilt of his mouth when he smiles at everyone in the room who is vying to become his patron.

Though the weeks seem to go backwards, the day comes so soon, and then Himchan is in Busan.

.

Yongguk promises to rejoin him later in one of the taverns near the house, a knowing look in his eyes and a self-righteous grin on his lips, as they meander the path to the house where the ceremony is taking place.

Himchan rolls his eyes. He might be a bit influenced by the drinks they shared earlier, but he knows where he’s going. He might even be distracted every once in a while looking up at the glittering canvas of stars in the sky, but he’s going to make it to the _kisaeng_ house, with or without Yongguk’s help.

He does make it there faster _with_ his help, fortunately, and waves him off ensuring that he will behave in a manner befitting his position when the light of the entryway is obscured by a shadow.

Himchan squints up at it, taking the steps slowly. “Ah,” he says. “Please take me to the ceremony for Daehyun?”

“It’s over,” the shadow says.

“You’re lying.”

The shadow crosses its arms and takes the form of a man, not much larger than Himchan, nor much older. “Fine, then you are not allowed in.”

“On whose grounds?” Himchan demands, striding forward before he hears an answer.

He’s thrown back, stumbling to balance himself before he can topple down the short steps. He glares.

“On the grounds of someone who has a lot of influence in this city,” he says.

“ _I_ have a lot of influence in this city,” Himchan grits. “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll step aside.”

“The auction is over,” he hears again, and Himchan snaps.

He’s getting inside, and this bulk of a man, this waste of space, isn’t going to stop him.

He runs. It’s highly undignified. He even yells a bit when the stranger makes a grab for him, falling short of his target when a spritely young thing latches onto his back and covers his eyes. The stranger reels.

“Master Kim,” Junhong says from behind the stranger. “I’ll distract him!”

Himchan winds his way through the house to the largest party room. Behind the screen doors, he can hear the low murmuring of men as the auction continues. It’s against custom, and Himchan can only hope that the auction has only just started, but he slides open the screen near the back and enters as quietly as he can, waving away the interested and disgruntled looks he gets from the men already in the room.

“What level have we reached?” he asks the man he sidles up next to in the crowd. He gives Himchan a brief look of distaste but answers.

“There are two men up near the front bidding but I think one is beginning to stall. This should be over soon.”

Himchan has to crane his neck in order to see the small platform where Daehyun is kneeling, has been kneeling for a long time now, his _gayageum_ before him and his hands held tightly together in his lap. His clothes are beautiful but plain, and he keeps his eyes down, unable to look at anyone in the room.

Himchan wishes he would look up, _at him_ , but he’s far back in the crowd and knows Daehyun wouldn’t see him, anyway.

“We will hold the bidding at ten,” the auctioneer announces.

“Eleven!” Himchan shouts, surprising himself and the man beside him.

“Are you crazy?” the other hisses.

“Yes,” Himchan says.

“I heard an eleven. The gentleman with the eleven, please step forward,” the auctioneer says methodically. The crowd parts. Himchan steps forward. “And your name?”

“Kim Himchan.”

Up on the platform, Daehyun stiffens, almost looks up. From here, Himchan imagines he can see his lips form a smile.

“Kim Himchan, eleven. Woo Jiho, ten. Do I hear a twelve?”

“Twelve,” Jiho says. He does not turn, but now that the crowd has parted, Himchan can see the back of him, the set of his shoulders. Himchan remembers the way he’d looked at Daehyun, connects him to the stranger outside of the house, and feels a fierce sort of protectiveness wash over him.

“Fifteen,” Himchan says.

At this, Jiho does turn. He turns in order to level Himchan with narrowed eyes. “Sixteen.”

“Twenty,” Himchan says.

The pause is tangible. Jiho breathes through his teeth and the other men in the room seem to freeze. “Twenty-one.”

“Thirty,” Himchan says, without missing a beat.

A sudden burst of noise as the crowd collectively exclaim their surprise. The auctioneer tries to call for order. Someone pats Himchan hard on the back. “He’s yours,” he hears. “No question.”

But Himchan is watching Jiho. Watching the line of his jaw work, watching how he looks from Himchan to Daehyun and back, hands clenched tight. Watching him give up.

“We will hold at thirty,” the auctioneer announces, as the crowd settles back down. She looks at Jiho. “Do I have thirty-one?”

Jiho shakes his head.

Himchan becomes Daehyun’s patron that night for the price of three million _won_.*

.

The room the _haengsu_ offers him is cozy, smaller than all the others he has seen with only the cushion Himchan is sitting on, a padded mat on the floor, a jar of perfumed oil by it -- Himchan knows; he went over to investigate -- and a stand holding an upright _haegeum_ and its bow. Now that his blood is clearing of the alcohol he is slowly starting to realize the sum of money he’s just promised away in the span of five minutes, but still cannot bring himself to regret it.

He has the funds for it, besides.

As he waits, he removes the headpiece containing his topknot and places it to the side, by the mat, then returns to the center of the room, sitting on the cushion. Should he begin to undress? Though he’s spent quite a few nights with a _kisaeng_ , he’s never spent a first with one. Is it customary for the _haengsu_ to leave without a proper explanation? Or does Himchan look like one of those lecherous men who go about town buying up _kisaeng_ virginity like it is the fresh catch of the day?

He frowns just as the screen door slides open, and Daehyun steps through.

Daehyun falters, but regains himself quickly, shutting the screen. Someone has helped him into a colorful, richly-dyed hanbok, and when he bows it fans out around him. “Master Himchan,” he murmurs.

“Daehyun-ah, you look really beautiful right now.”

He blushes, eyes wide, looking anywhere but at Himchan as he sits across from him. His make-up is clean, accentuating his eyes and lips and the beauty mark under his eye. Himchan sees the butterfly pin he’d bought for him in his hair.

His hands are small, Himchan notices for the first time, as he reaches for them, but Daehyun holds his hands close and tight against his lap, so Himchan does not take them.

“I went back to Seoul,” Himchan says instead. “And I saw this, and I thought of you.” He reaches into the folds of his _hanbok_ and draws out a pouch. Daehyun follows the movement of his hands with his eyes as Himchan shakes the pouch out in his palm. Another hairpin falls out, smaller than the first, but just as beautiful and adorned with tiny jeweled peonies instead of the butterfly. “May I?”

Daehyun nods.

So he rises him his seat and pads over, kneeling down behind Daehyun instead. Himchan does not know the art of hairstyling, but he picks a spot where he thinks the pin would look nice, and gently places it there, unable to help himself from admiring the little curls of hair at the nape of Daehyun’s neck, fingers coming down to brush over the soft hairs.

The _kisaeng_ gasps, leaning forward suddenly. “Would you like to hear a song?” He reaches for the _haegeum_ in the corner, taking it and tuning it deftly.

“I would love to,” Himchan says honestly, fingers still curled at Daehyun’s neck.

Daehyun seems able to draw music out of anything and everything, and most of all himself. He begins to play, and it seems to relax him, tension easing from his shoulders and posture. As the sweet, mournful sounds of the zither resonate throughout the room, Himchan leans forward to place a kiss where his fingers are, right above the collar of Daehyun’s _hanbok_ , and Daehyun slows but does not stop.

“You play well, Daehyunnie,” Himchan praises, placing another kiss there.

“Soon I will play even better,” Daehyun says haltingly. “Your patronage was very -- generous.”

“Generous,” Himchan repeats, kissing him again. He pulls down on the collar of the _hanbok_ and smiles at the smooth expanse of skin he reveals, unblemished, untouched. Himchan wants to see Daehyun’s shoulders. “You’re always telling me I’m generous. There’s something I ask for in return for my generosity.”

“Of course.” Daehyun leans into Himchan’s touch, shrugs his shoulders when Himchan tries to reveal more skin to help him along. “I’ve learned to play many instruments well, Master Himchan. Just tell me what you’d like.”

Himchan chuckles against Daehyun’s skin, and reaches around to begin untying the _hanbok_. “Daehyun-ah,” Himchan whispers. “Daehyun-ah, let’s put _this_ instrument away now.”

“Of course,” Daehyun breathes, setting the instrument aside as Himchan shrugs the first layer of clothing from his body and reveals the white garments underneath.

Himchan noses along the line of his shoulder, up his neck, kisses the shell of his ear and groans when he feels Daehyun shiver against him. He reaches up and unpins Daehyun’s hair and it unravels in a long, thick braid to the floor, pins still glittering in its strands.

He stands then, to admire the line of Daehyun’s nearly bare back in the thin white clothes, as Daehyun peers over his shoulder at him, from underneath his lashes, and desire courses through Himchan at that single glance.

“Can you do the rest yourself, Daehyunnie?” he orders in the form of a question. He makes it over to the mat and sits, beginning to undress.

Daehyun makes quick work of his underclothes. For all that he was skittish and shy just moments before, now Himchan can see the desire in his eyes, too. He stands, naked before Himchan, his long braid brushing just under the curve of his ass, and bites at his bottom lip.

“Beautiful,” Himchan gushes again. “Come here.”

Daehyun takes a step forward but cannot seem to move past that. He won’t look anywhere but at the spot right above Himchan’s shoulder, and when Himchan realizes why, he laughs. Daehyun wrings his hands together.

“You can look,” Himchan says, sitting back on his hands. “It’s not a monster.” Daehyun says something but Himchan cannot catch it, his voice is so small. “What?”

“The other _kisaengs_ said it will hurt,” Daehyun whispers, ducking his eyes down now in shame.

Himchan feels again that protectiveness swell over him. His chest is tight and hot. He wants to make Daehyun feel good. When he holds his hands up Daehyun takes them and Himchan drags him down, his knees coming to either side of Himchan’s waist as he straddles his lap.

“It might,” Himchan says gently. “I don’t want to lie to you. But it can also feel good, and I want it to feel good for you. That’s what the oil is for. I will go very, very slow. We have all night.”

“You are my patron,” Daehyun says. “We have until your money runs out.” The smile is small and wavering but it is there. Himchan returns it, darting forward to place a kiss on Daehyun’s cheek. When he pulls back, Daehyun’s eyes are dark, his lips parted.

Himchan kisses him again, this time on the lips, and guides Daehyun onto his back on the mat.

.

In the morning Himchan wakes to the warmth of another body. He feels sticky and worn, but doesn’t want to move yet for all the gold in the world. He snakes a hand down behind Daehyun and feels where he is still slick with oil, feels how Daehyun presses up against him and hears him whimper in his sleep when he strokes along the sensitized skin.

He thinks this is obsession. This is the fall of the nobleman. He’s seen it happen before: men of class and scholar and wit spending their fortune on keeping their _kisaengs_ happy, showering them with gifts and providing for them, losing interest in the affairs of their own work and careers.

It would be easy to fall. Daehyun is so very beautiful, and last night he had been his most beautiful yet. Himchan longs to experience the days he knows will come anyway _right now_ , in this moment just after waking by Daehyun’s side.

The morning light filters in and warms the room further. Himchan watches Daehyun scrunch his eyes shut tighter before he blinks himself awake, freezing for a moment in Himchan’s arms.

“Good morning,” Himchan says, his voice rough. He cups the side of Daehyun’s face, his cheek fitting perfectly within his palm, and kisses him. “How do you feel?”

“Sore,” Daehyun says, kissing him back. “Happy.” His lips are so soft. “Except that you are likely traveling back to Seoul today. Not so happy.”

“No.” Himchan grins into Daehyun’s hair as he speaks. “I am not. I have to ensure you’re getting the lessons I’m paying for to start with at least. I’ll be staying.”

He doesn’t miss the way Daehyun’s heart beats against his chest like it is his own, like it is fighting to get out to join Himchan’s in its cage. “For how long?” Daehyun asks, voice high and thin.

“For a little while, at least. A month, maybe.”

“Will you visit every day?” Excitement makes him squeak.

Himchan smooths Daehyun’s hair back from where some of it has fallen from the braid. “Are you so eager to see me? Yes,” he says. “I promise.”

“I’ll wait for you,” Daehyun says in return. “Even on the days you do not come.”

“Do you promise?” Himchan rolls them over so that Daehyun is on his back and he on top of him. Daehyun gasps when Himchan dips down to suck at his collarbone.

“Yes,” Daehyun whispers. “I promise.”

.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [writing](http://andnowforyaya.tumblr.com/) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/andnowforyaya)
> 
> *I did really fake research for this. AND THEN I REALIZED IT WAS ALL WRONG OMG THANK YOU EMBERS. /changes everything.
> 
> also, i imagine there will be more to this probably in the future.


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